To Weyr Craft and Hold
by redhead-saxophone
Summary: Tirelle has strange dreams, and strange gifts that she doesn't understand. Now she has Impressed a fighting dragon. Will the past that she can't remember come back to haunt her?
1. Awakening

**Awakening**

(AN: This is totally AU, I love Anne McCaffrey too much to use her characters. The timeline is whenever you wish, likely a pass or two in the past. And finally, the disclaimer. I own nothing, I am not doing this for monetariy gain, McCaffrey is God. Any questions?)

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_Tirelle was awakened by screams. She ran to open her bedroom door, then gasped as a wave of heat hit her, making her cough and choke on the smoke she had just drawn into her young lungs. She crawled back to her bed, where she lay huddled, until she heard her sister's voice down the hall. The sound finally drove her to action, and she ran down the hall, towards the screams. Her little legs didn't carry her far before exhaustion and smoke caused her to fall in a faint. As she lay in the hall, darkness overtaking her, she sent out a silent plea. -_Please, don't let me die. I'm scared; I don't want to die_.- Just before she lost consciousness, she felt herself being lifted into the air, and could feel the beat of angel wings._

Tirelle woke with a start, gasping for air and trying to clear her head. She was no stranger to this dream, so she knew she would sleep no more that night. Pity, today she would need all her wits about her. Four runners had just been purchased by Nerat Hold, all of them wild as a wherrie. She hoped to break at least two to saddle and bridle that day, but as the herdmaster, or anyone else, would not awaken for several hours, Tirelle found herself with time to spare, a luxury she was not accustomed to. She walked from the barracks that she shared with the other herd hands, out across the paved courtyard and up to the walk along the wall. As she stared out at the steely morning fields, she breathed deeply. Now it was peaceful. No fosterlings under foot, no runners rearing or bucking, no Lord or Lady to appease. Tirelle stood there on the eastern wall, breathing, until the sun burst over the horizon.

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"Come on! Get moving you big lump of…"

"Tirelle! You watch your language young lady!" A man called from the edge of the corral.

"Dak, did you just call me a lady? I think I'm insulted!" Tirelle laughed as she gave the herdbeast another whack on the rump for good measure.

"Get used to it, Tirelle. Me and Norla haven't given up on you yet." Dak called back. "You'll need to keep a civil tongue in your head if you want to lure any of those handsome craft-boys into your bed tomorrow night!"

"Dak, please! You know I'm not going to the Gather, why do you keep bringing it up?" Tirelle shut the gate on the corral. "Make sure Stefen and Ronel keep an eye on them. I don't have time to be chasing strays."

As Tirelle walked across the field, she shook her long red hair out from the handkerchief she had it pulled up in. All around, signs of the upcoming Gather drew attention. Tall poles, destined to hold the canopy aloft, were being set into holes and braced, while hands from every craft could be seen erecting small pavilions and kiosks, in which to sell their wares to Gather guests. Just past the kiosks stood the herd barn and, Tirelle imagined, one hell of a beating.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Hang on, Tirelle! Looks like he's about tired out!"

Tirelle was hanging on, as hard as she could, every muscle screaming against the pressure. Thankfully, she too could tell the beast was tiring. It's bucks were lower, and weaker, but still she dug in her spurs and held tight the reins. She'd been tricked by runners before, and did not fancy being thrown into the dirt of the pen today. When the beast finally stood still, sides heaving, Tirelle relaxed a little. Tapping the runner forward, she completed one circle of the corral before dismounting.

"Wow, Tirelle, you're amazing! I mean, none of the other hands could break that runner and then, bam, you jump on her and she's broke, just like that!" A young boy babbled as Tirelle ducked out of the enclosure.

"Slow down, Nellen. Take a breath. Look, there's still a lot of work to be done with that young filly, but at least she knows who the dominant species is here." Tirelle gave Nellen a sideways glance, "Does Marja know you're here?"

The boys slightly guilty look answered the question for him. "Nellen," Tirelle said patiently, "You know that Marja worries when she doesn't know where you are, and worrying makes her short tempered. Do you want to be banned from Gather tomorrow? Do you want to be scrubbing dishes instead of exploring the bazaar with the other boys."

"No," Nellen said contritely. "It's just that I wanted to come and see you and Marja always has me working in the kitchens or setting up looms for the Weavers, it's almost like she doesn't want me to see you."

"Well Marja is fostering you, so you mind what she tells you. Run along now, and maybe she won't tan your hide!" Tirelle said, giving the young boy a gentle shove in the direction of the Weaver Hall. Nellen was sixteen Turns, old enough to start his apprenticeship in a craft. But Marja, his foster mother, was a protective women, and the boy was very sheltered, making him seem younger than his years. The boy hero-worshipped Tirelle. She was one of the few people in the Hold who didn't brush him off as a witless child. She tried to include him in some of the herd barn's activities, since he showed an interest. When he returned from the barn with a sprained wrist from a spirited runner that he was leading into the ring, however, Marja began curtailing his movements as much as she could, and treating Tirelle with the coldest of glares. Tirelle tried to convince him to stay with Marja, to keep the peace, but the boy loved the barns too much to be swayed, and so Tirelle began showing him some of life in the barns, Marja be damned.

Tirelle watched the slight boy make his way back to the Hold with a smile in her face before turning to help the rest of the hands with the days chores. She was glad that they had broken the two runners that day, but her muscles ached horribly. She took a swig of a flask at her hip, and let the fiery spirits burn there way through her body, before she climbed into the loft to help with throwing hay down to the beasts below.

She didn't hear the heavy steps of a man in riding boots coming toward the opening in the loft. so she couldn't really be blamed for throwing the large, unbound bale of fodder down on top or the Masterherder's head.

"Fall, Fog, and Fire!" the man cursed as he got up off of the barn floor, brushing chaff from his shoulders and pulling bits of hay from his hair.

"Oh, Shards! Sorry Dak! I didn't know you were down there." Tirelle called down from the loft.

Dakan was still brushing the last of the fodder off of his clothing, muttering curses under his breath. When he looked up at the young woman, he gave a humph, part grunt of annoyance, part sigh of resignation.

"Come on down here and talk to me a second, will ya Tirelle?"

Tirelle swung down from the mow with the skill of constant repetition and followed Dakan into the small room off of the main barn, an old storage closet that Dak cleaned out and now used as an office.

"What's on your mind there, chief?" she said casually. Tirelle was slightly confused as to what Dak might need to talk about. She hadn't caused any problems lately, hadn't drank enough to cause a scene, and, since she was second only to the old man himself in the barns, she sure as hell wasn't getting a promotion, so the reason for this impromptu meeting had her puzzled.

Dak didn't quite meet her eye as they sat down at the desk/meeting table. "Big Gather tomorrow, lots of people coming in, some from as far as Fort and Ruatha. Rumour is that there'll even be dragon riders."

"Ya, supposed to be a real show." Tirelle gave Dak a sidelong glance. "Cut to the chase, old man. We've known each other too long for this small-talk routine. What is it about tomorrow that we need to discuss?"

Dak's shoulders slumped, making the man look well over his fifty-five years. "There are some buyers coming in from the northern holds. I need you to entertain them during Gather, butter them up so they'll be more likely to accept my prices. I need these sales, Tirelle, and I need your help to get them."

Tirelle sighed in relief. She knew how much Dak needed these buyers. His crazy scheme to start herding in the middle of a rainforest still confused most, and Dak was a laughing stock for years. But, the beasts had turned out better than expected. Now all that they needed were steady buyers and the barns would continue to prosper. Those buyers were slow in coming, howerver. "You know that I don't like Gathers and such, Dak. But you should also know that I'm there when you need me. I'd be happy to go get drunk with your buyers! Why after I get bout a half bottle of fellis juice into each of them..."

"That's not what I meant, Tirelle." Dak interrupted. "These men aren't used to a woman running around in leather breeches and vest. The northern woman are soft in the most part, and the ones with strength use it in more subtle ways than you are capable of. By entertain, I meant the pretty dress, giggly smile, promising glances and flirtatious dancing type of entertain."

Tirelle gave the man across from her a glare. He was like her second father, but he had just pushed all the wrong buttons. "You whoring me out now, Dak?"

"Oh, Scorch it, Tirelle, don't even try and put it on that footing. I'm not asking ya to bed them. All I want is for you to keep them happy. And besides, usually you jump at the chance to try and lure a fresh one into your bed. I know for a fact that you rarely sleep alone, and it's never the same man twice. Hell, most of those young barn-boys who come in to negotiate for their masters end up in your bed before the night is over, anyways. Stop being so sharding ornery over a flaming dress!"

Tirelle was fuming, more at Dak bringing up her refusal to wear a dress than the rest of it. He was right, she was being stubborn over a dress. She hadn't worn one since she first came to Nerat almost fifteen years ago. She never thought she needed to. Her breeches were close fitting, and showed off more of her sculpted figure than those loose skirts ever could. And, by the Egg, all the young men around the hold, and even the ones who came in for smaller gathers, didn't seem to mind her masculine attire.

Dak walked around the desk and put his hands on Tirelle's toned shoulders, bending down to look her straight in the eye. "Please, Tirelle. You know better than anyone that I need this."

Tirelle stared back up at him. Looking in his eyes, she saw the desperation, the need for validation. Slumping her shoulders she nodded her acceptance. The sparkle in Dakan's eyes made up for what she saw as base humiliation.

She stood and walked to the door. Just before she stepped over the threshold, she turned back to the grinning masterherder. "I am gonna buy the most expensive dress I can find, and you, my giddy friend, are paying for it."

His grin never even twitched. "Go to the house and pick up Norla, she knows all the best dressmakers. She'll get you gussied up right."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"You have got to be joking," Tirelle said as she looked at the lace monstrosity reflected in the mirror, only vaguely recognizing herself in all those frills and ruffles. "Was this your idea, Norla?" she asked, glancing at the grey haired woman on the other side of the shop.

The motherly figure pursed her lips. "Hmm, maybe we need to go with a simpler style," she said thoughtfully. She began sorting through the gowns on the rack, stopping at one of deep purple velvet. "I think this might suit you better," she said cheerfully as she handed the gown to Tirelle.

"No frills at least," Tirelle grumbled, taking the dress from Norla and stalking to the dressing room. She walked out again, with a sour look on her face, and threw her hands up in the air.

"Well here we go again, dress number six, how ridiculous does this one look?" She asked, turning to face Norla, her back to the large mirror.

Norla looked shocked, eyes wide, as she put her hand to her mouth. "Oh my," she said quietly.

Tirelle winced, "That bad, huh?" she said, then she sighed, "That's it! Were done! I agreed to try Dak's fool plan, but if we can't find a dress, then-"

"Oh, no, darling, you don't understand-"

"Oh yes i do! I won't look like a fool for-"

"But, you don't-"

"-buyers can shove it up their prissy-"

"Tirelle, if you would just-"

"-don't need this fool hassel-"

"Scortch it, Tirelle, would you LOOK at yourself!"

Tirelle was shocked, Norla stood infront of her, fuming, hands on hips. The small, quiet woman Never used harsh language, especially not out in public. But for once, Tirelle was a little afraid of the woman who had been as good as a mother to her.

Norla sighed, and took Tirelle's hand. "Just look at yourself dear, and you'll understand." Then she slowly lead Tirelle to turn and face the mirror behind her. "Do you see now?"

Seeing her reflection, Tirelle gasped and put her hand to her mouth, unconsciously mimicking Norla's expression from moments before.

"Your a vision, my dear," Norla whispered, before stepping back from the feisty woman. Tirelle stood in shock for another moment, before taking stock of her reflection. The bodice of the dress was boned, showing her trim waist to great effect, with beautiful embroidery on the front panel. There was soft, draped fabric acting as off-the-shoulder sleeves of a sort. The skirt itself was divided, with an underskirt of silvery silk. The purple velvet felt good under her hands, and the silk felt good against her skin. Tirelle was rather surprised how beautiful she felt.

She turned to see how the dress looked from the side, then spun back, simply because she liked the feel of the silk when she moved. She spun back and forth again, and then spun in a complete circle. She pirouetted again, a smile crawling across her face. The dress flared out as she spun, flying out from her hips and flowing around her like a dream. She let a girlish giggle escape.

She stopped her spinning at the sound of Norla laughing. She turned and looked at the older woman, who had a face-splitting smile on.

Immediately stopping her spinning, she cleared her throat gruffly. "Well," she said, "I'd still be more comfortable in breeches. This things going to be bloody hot in the sun."

Norla walked up to her and patter her cheek. "Whatever you say dear," she said, then left Tirelle to her sipnning.

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Guest began arriving rather early in the day. By the time Tirelle had bathed and dressed, the Harpers were playing and dancing had begun. Tirelle waved many hello's, and smiled at many a shocked face, on her way to the danceing square.

"Wel, well, well. I never thought I'd see the day when Tirelle would wear a skirt in public," said a young man as he approached.

Tirelle laughed. "Skirt or no, Stefan, I can still whip you with one hand behind my back, and don't you forget it!" she said, then ran up to him and gave him a bear hug. "Have you seen Dakan's buyers? I'm supposed to be 'entertaining' them."

"Third table to the left, opposite side of the square," Stefan said. Just then, the Harper's started into a lively reel. Stefan smiled, and offered Tirelle his hand with a flourish, inviting her to dance. Tirelle gave him a withering look, but took his hand and joined him in the fast paced dance, stepping and spinning until she and her partner had reached the bottom of the set at the other side of the dancing square. She stood, laughing with Stefan, until they had both regained their breath. Then the barn hand led her to the table where four very well dressed men were sitting.

"Gentlemen," Stefan began, "May I introduce Lady Tirelle? She is our best trainer for the runners, and knows more about herdbeasts than anyone here, save Dakan himself."

Tirelle curtsied, and the men eyed her with blatant approval. She had a feeling that their approval had more to do with the low cut of her bodice than with her abilities in the barns. Still, she gave each of them a smile, one that held no promises, but did hint at the possibility of some less-than-profesional dealings. Dakan wanted them interested, and by the Egg, she would give him interested.

Tirelle spent the afternoon laughing at jokes that weren't funny and dancing with each of the buyers. By nightfall, she needed something stronger than wine to drink and someone to tend to her feet, sore from being stepped on. She excused herself from the buyers, knowing full well they were as good as in Dakan's pocket, and left to find a bit of quiet, a bit of food, and possibly a companion for the night. As she walked between two of the pavilions, she heard voices, and cruel laughter. Turning the corner, her anger flared hot at what she saw

Four young men, obviously Holder's sons by there dress, were taunting and jeering at a poor boy. He was obviously unable to defend himself as he was pushed from bully to bully. Tirelle had been walking forward to break up the group when the young boy was pushed to the ground. As he struggled to rise, Tirelle got a glimpse of his face.

"Nellen!"


	2. Search

**Search**

(AN: So here is where my story really earns it T rating. Sex, violence and all that jazz. Again, I don't own Pern, tho I really wish I did)

"Nellen!" she yelled, causing the older boys to turn. They were all a match to her nineteen Turns, maybe older, and were obviously not going to stop just because they were recognized. She started forward again

"Hey, sweetie, don't you know, pretty girls shouldn't walk alone at night. It's not safe." One of the boys called out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close. "Why not let me take care of you?" he breathed in her ear.

He reeked of wine, and was none too steady on his feet. Tirelle knocked his arm off of her, then pushed him away. He stumbled to the ground, holding a very sore arm.

"Don't YOU know, drunken little boys should be careful who they pick fights with?" Tirelle taunted back. The other three had released Nellen in surprise at Tirelle's attack and stood by in shock.

"You bitch!" the man on the ground snarled.

"Nellen, go home. I'll handle this," she called to the boy, who was quick to follow her advice.

She had been slowly backing up to give herself more room to maneuver in the cumbersome dress, but there was little room to be had between the tents, and she had neatly backed herself up against a wall.

"Well, Fall, Fog, and Fire," Tirelle muttered as she saw the boy she had knocked down, the leader of the group from the look of things, pull a dagger from his belt. -_I could really use some help- _ she thought to herself as she moved to dodge the mans first stab. She was neatly penned in between the tent and the Lord's son's burly friends, and knew she couldn't dodge forever. As she darted gracefully away from his every stab, the young Lord grew more and more angry. Finally, when one of his enraged thrusts caused him to overextend, and tear a hole in her new dress, Tirelle grabbed his arm, brought it down onto her knee, and stole the dagger from his very hand.

Seeing their leader fall, clutching his now twice injured arm, caused the other three to quickly close in on Tirelle. Two grabbed her, struggling and taking hits until they could knock the dagger from her hand and pin her arms behind her, while the other unsheathed his own knife. Tirelle could hear shouts from beyond the tents, and what sounded like a group of soldiers. _Nellen_, she thought, but she knew that they wouldn't make it in time.

The young men didn't seem to hear the soldiers; they were drunk and preoccupied with her. -_Shards, someone, please help me- _she thought. The young Lord had risen to his feet, and taken the knife from his friend. his face was pure fury as he closed in on her. She closed her eyes, anticipating the knife strike.

Suddenly, two words broke through her consciousness.

_We come._

Immediately the air above was filled with dragon cries and the beating of wings. The young Lord and his friends, before made brave by wine, fell to the ground, terrified. Since there was no room for the magnificent bronze to land, a small green came down to relay the message.

"All of you will go from here straight to the courtyard. We will be watching you, so do not try to run." The dragonrider spoke in a clipped, brisk manner before remounting and taking flight once more.

Tirelle, for the first time in her life, was afraid. She had crossed blades with the son of a Lord Holder. She didn't know the exact punishment for such a transgression, but she knew her fate was in jeopardy. As she and the four young men approached the courtyard, she saw the dragon wing land, and was awed by the sight. She had momuntarily forgotten the reason for the landing until she saw the stormy face on the wingleader as he walked towards them.

"What, by the egg, gives you the right-" Tirelle winced expecting the worst, "-to draw on a lady, at Gather!" the bronze rider finished.

Tirelle's head came up in shock. The wing was standing together, casually, but alert, and glaring at the four boys. No one seemed to care that she had battered the sons of Holders, probably seriously injuring the ones arm.

The leader of the group laughed. It was easier to be brave when faced with a man instead of a dragon. "Lady? She's a herd hand, little better than a drudge. Beating a drudge who won't submit to authority is no crime-" the boy was cut short when the wingleader slapped him across the face.

"How dare you!" he spluttered, holding the side of his face, Tirelle could already see his lip swelling. When the boy took his hand away, there was blood on his fingers.

"I have committed no crime," the bronze rider said with a smile. "It is no crime to beat an errant child who won't submit to authority." The rest of the wing snickered at the obvious taunt.

"I am the son of Lord Begamon of Nerat Hold, where you are a guest. You HAVE no authority over me, dragonrider," the boy spat at the dragonman. He said dragonrider almost as if it were derogatory.

The face of the wingleader fell. "Son of a Lord? Then you should know that no man of noble or common birth would allow an attack on a woman, regardless of circumstances!" he stormed.

"This doesn't concern you" The boy said, obviously acting tough for the benefit of his friends. Tirelle was sure he would rather die than show weakness to them.

The dragonrider stepped forward, and grabbed the front of the young Lord's very expensive coat. "ALL injustice concerns me," he whispered. The whisper made him seem all the more threatening. "You will apologize to the lady, and then return to your Hold. For you, Gather is over." The rider then dropped the boy back to the ground. After a stumble, he gave Tirelle a glare before muttering an apology and storming back to the Hold.

Tirelle was thinking very fast. Begamon's son? That bastard was the son of her own Holder? She was a little suprised that she hdan't recognized him, but it really wasn't that strange. She rarely went to the Hold proper, preferring to stay close to the barraks and barns, and things that she understood. This would complicate things. The look on the man's face had told her that this was not over, and if he was going to be the future Lord of this Hold, it might be time for her to move on.

"Are you alright, my Lady? You aren't injured are you?" the rider asked Tirelle, breaking her from her gloomy thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine," she stammered. "And please, my name is Tirelle. Lady is not a title I'm accustomed to. The boy wasn't lying when he told you about me."

"How could anyone, Tirelle, mistake beauty like yours as anything but noble?" he said, kissing her hand. "It is easy to recognize someone of Blood, if you know what you are looking for."

She couldn't hide her blush at the riders compliment, but she laughed when he mentioned her being of the Blood. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, I was born to a farmer's family, and have grown up in the herd barns. I assure you, I am as far from noble as it is possible to be. But please, let me show you to the Lord and Lady. I am sure they will be honoured to receive guests such as yourselves." She said smiling, including the rest of the wing in her invitation. She may not be a lady, but she did have manners, and she owed the dragonriders her life. The bronze rider looked confused as she led him to the main square. -_probably not used to being wrong-_ she thought.

After beginning the introductions to Lord Begamon and his Lady, Tirelle slipped away, back toward the dancing and free-flowing wine. Downing her first goblet in one, she was reaching for a second when she heard a voice behind her.

"Tirelle! I've been looking everywhere! After you got me away from those men, I ran straight to the first soldier I could find and told them you were in trouble, but we couldn't find you and I thought they had hurt you, and-"

"Shh, Nellen, it's OK. I'm fine, see? Not a scratch." Tirelle said, trying to calm the boy down. "I was more worried about you. They banged you up pretty good. I've told you not to go wondering off on your own." Tirelle frowned as she examined the boy's face. He was going to have a black eye, and he would be pretty swollen in the morning, but it could have been much worse. "I want you to promise me that you'll stay away from the Hold proper for a while, OK Nellen? Those boys live up there, and I don't want you to get hurt again."

"I don't think you'll need to worry about those brutes anymore," a voice said from behind the pair. Tirelle turned to see a group of dragonmen walking towards them. The man leading the way Tirelle recognized as a brown rider. The men had changed out of their riding gear, and were wearing non-discript, yet well tailored clothing. The knot on the brownrider's jacket declared him as a wingsecond, and Tirelle rose to greet the group properly.

"Begamon isn't a cruel man, and when Z'fan told him about his sons actions, he was furious. Apparently, the Lord Holder is not above choosing a younger son to succeed him if his heir is not worthy of the title of Lord. I doubt that young Faren will push his luck anymore. You should both be safe from him." the dragonrider finished with a smile.

Tirelle curtsied her thanks, then called for someone to bring chairs and wine for the dragonmen. Nellen stared at the ground, obviously too intimidated by the dragonriders to speak, or even make eye contact. Once seats, and another table, had been moved into place to accommodate the men, Tirelle sat with them, but Nellen slipped back to his friends.

"Poor boy, I didn't realize they had roughed him up as well. I believe I may have to pass that detail on to Lord Begamon. A brute like that should never be allowed to rule. It is a Lord's job to protect, not harm," the rider said, with acid in his voice.

"Thank you, you don't know how much it means to me that he will be safe. I honestly don't know how to thank you all. I don't even know your names," Tirelle said speaking to the whole group.

"No thanks are needed, but as for names, Mine is C'rel. These are B'lon, M'nar, S'ern, and F'rel." The rider said, pointing to each man in turn.

"Well, I know it is not needed, but still, thank you, if you ever need anything, please just ask." she said.

"Well, how about a dance?" a S'ern asked her, standing and walking to her side to offer her his hand. "It's not often that riding in Search leads us to a Gather, and even less often that we are given time to enjoy it."

Tirelle's head came up at the mention of Search. -_That explains why they arrived during the fight; they were nearby anyways- _she thought, then smiled at the green rider. "Well, I suppose once dance couldn't hurt," she said, looking out at him from under her lashes. The dragonrider took a deep breath in, then lead her out onto the floor.

C'rel watched as each of the young men of his wing took a turn on the floor with the fiery woman. He watched her closely, taking in her sensuous smile, her graceful step, her lithe, strong body. He was disturbed from his voyeurism when his wingleader sat beside him.

"I've been introduced to the women of Begamon's Hold. All his ladies are soft, giddy, and nice." Z'fan said, shaking his head.

"Exactly what we DON'T need." C'rel finished for the bronze rider.

Z'fan nodded his agreement. "Any luck with the Craft girls here?" he asked.

C'rel smiled and looked back at where Tirelle was dancing with B'lon. "Some," he admitted.

Z'fan followed his gaze. "The runner girl? I thought the same at first, but she has no Blood. I spoke with Begamon about her, and it appears that she was telling us the truth. She came here twelve turns ago, orphaned by a fire that destroyed a small farmhold near Keroon. She has lived with Dakan, the herdmaster here, since then. Apparently he knew her parents, so he accepted responsibility for her. But she can't have the power we need, not without being of the Blood."

C'rel frowned. His wingleader was always just, and he led them well, but he was Weyr born and bred, one of the Blood, and entirely too hidebound. "There may be no Blood, but there is certainly power." he countered. "It is subtle, maybe even unconscious, but it is strong. Remember her call?"

Z'fan nodded. "She has strength, to be certain. Very well, we will bring her back to the Weyr. Having one more Candidate won't make a difference to that hatchling queen," the bronze rider said, before standing and walking back towards his room in the Hold.

C'rel nodded, then went back to watching the girl. B'lon, the youngest member of his wing, was leading her off of the dance floor. She stopped, pulled him close, and whispered in his ear. C'rel could see the young mans eyes start from his face at what she said, and wasn't surprised when Tirelle led him back towards the barracks. He was surprised at the irritation that welled up in him. -_I'm only concerned that he will ignore his duty by focusing on her-_ he thought to himself, but he couldn't hide from the bare truth.

Shards, but he wished he could be the one in Tirelle's bed tonight.

------------------------

The sun was already high when Tirelle opened her eyes. She smiled down at B'lon sleeping beside her, but slipped out of bed without bothering to wake him. She had business to take care of in the barns and was late enough as it was.

"Here she is!" Dakan called as she walked into the indoor corral. "What kept you? Wine get the best of you last night?"

"Or maybe it was that young dragonman who got the best of her," Stefan called next, drawing hoots and catcalls from the other men.

Tirelle laughed along. "Well, at least I managed to convince HIM that I'm not a lady," she joked back before before grabbing a ptichfork and helping clean the remaining stalls. She enjoyed working in the barns. The men she worked with respected her for her strength, and treated her as an equal instead of a woman. After helping with the regular days chores, she strapped on her spurs and jumped into the chute. Another runner had to be broken, and the sun way already on its way down the sky.

After she had exhausted the wild runner, she looked over to see C'rel clapping his appreciation.

"I didn't realize your power would manifest so physically," he called from the edge of the corral, "But perhaps I should have suspected it."

"What can I do for you, wingsecond?" she asked politely as she wiped her hands on her breeches.

"As I said last night, we ride in Search," he began.

"I appologize if B'lon rose late and hindered your Search," she offered guessing at the riders meaning.

The brown rider laughed. "No one but the wingleader and myself rose before noon. No, that is not what I meant. I am here to offer you an invitation to the Weyr, to give you the chance to Impress." He finished the statement without a hint of the laughter from earlier. "I am here to offer you the chance to be Weyrwoman."

Tirelle stared, struck dumb by his words. Weyrwoman? Her? There must be some mistake.

The brown rider saw her confusion. "My Pearth heard your cry for help last night. It takes a great deal of power to send a mental message to a dragon without Impression. And your work with the runners, it goes more smoothly for you than for others, does it not?" he said softly and not without kindness. He remembered the shock he went through when he discovered he was a Candidate.

Tirelle leaned back against the corral fence, trying to process what the brown rider had offered her.

C'rel frowned slightly at her hesitation. "You have power, Tirelle, but you do not have to use it if you do not wish to. You have the option. I cannot guarentee that you will Impress the Queen, only that you will be one of the Candidates. You have to choose whether this is something that you want."

Tirelle looked first at the dragonman, then at the roof of the barn. This was all so unexpected. But did she really have that wonderful of a life here at Nerat that she wouldn't give it up for a chance at something better? As much as Lord Begamon promised to keep his son in check, he could only do that until his death, and Fenar struck her as a man who would hold a grudge.

"Alright," she said softly, barely more than a whisper. "I'll come." She stopped there, unsure if her voice would give way if she tried to speak more.

C'rel smiled kindly and nodded. "We leave in the morning," the wingsecond informed her, then turned to walk away to give Tirelle some privacy.

"Wait!" Tirelle cried, reaching out to grasp the dragonmans jacket. She quickly retracted her hand when C'rel looked at her with shock. She took a step toward him. "It seems I must thank you again, dragonman," she said quietly.

C'rel breathed in, and could smell her soft, feminine scent. Sweat, dust, runners, all scents that you would expect on a man, yet on her, they were uniquely beautiful. She took another step towards him, pressing her body against his. C'rel wouldn't have moved, even if he could have. His heart was beating as fast as if he was flying Thread. It didn't matter that he was almost sure she was using power on him, or that she had enough power to effect a dragonman so strongly. All that mattered was that the fiery, unpredictable woman was reaching up, pressing her warm lips to his in a kiss so passionate it could have been dragon-roused. The kiss lasted only a few moments, but C'rel was tingling when she stepped back and away from him.

Tirelle smiled at the dragon rider. The kiss had been born of gratitude and the feeling of the moment, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. "Thank you," she said breathily. The dragonman nodded at her, and then leaned down to return her kiss.

-------------------------

Tirelle woke long before the sun was up. Slipping quietly out of bed so as not to wake C'rel, she quickly dressed in a fresh tunic and breeches. She hoped that C'rel would understand that the night before was born of physical need and the emotional shock that the offer to Impress had cause, but she didn't over worry herself. The dragonman was strong; he could survive a broken heart. She walked out of the barracks, quickly making her way to the Hold proper, and entered the Great Hall. Early cooks had some breads ready for breakfast, but Tirelle settles for a much of klah as she waited for the meats to be ready. Noticing that Jessem, the Harper, was still abed, she reverently took his guitar off of its stand, strummed the strings and turned keys until she was happy with the tuning. Taking up a slow, soft melody, she played sitting on the stool normally reserved for the Harper, oblivious to the slowly filling Hall. Whe she openned her eyes with the dying of the last chord, she saw Z'fan and C'rel both staring her way, the bronze rider with astonishment, his wingsecond with delighted amusement.

"Where on Pern did you learn to play?" Z'fan demanded.

Tirelle bristled at the challenge in his voice. She raised her chin daringly. "The old Harper, the same man who taught Jessem, 'though I hardly see how it's any of your business."

Z'fan walked away in shock, muttering under his breath. C'rel walked forward, chuckling.

"He was admiring your skill, not questioning your right to it," he said. The man began walking away from her, then stopped and said over his shoulder, "If I had known you were such an early riser, I would not have kept you up so late." His smile let her know that the words were only teasing banter, and that he was not hurt by her leaving him in bed without a farewell. "Say your farewells; we leave within the hour," he said as he continued walking away.

Tirelle gave him a smile and a nod, then, after replacing the guitar on its stand, walked out of the Hall, down to the herdbarn.

"Norla," she called out as she entered the barn. "Norla!"

"Yes, child," Norla's voice floated down from the loft appartment that she and Dakan shared.

Tirelle looked up the staircase at the woman who had been like a mother to her for the past twelve Turns. She took a breath in, then with a firm and steady voice said, "I am leaving for the Weyr. I have been chosen as a Candidate for the unhatched queen." She said is all at once, getting everything out of the way before her voice cracked.

Norla stood, mouth open, before racing down the stairs to bear hug Tirelle, sobbing into her shoulder.

"What in the Void is going on?" Tirelle heard Dakan shout from above. Once he had stomped his way down the stairs and heard the explanation, however, he became very quiet. "Norla," he said softly, "Go upstairs and get the things we've been saving. I won't have my girl leaving for the Weyr a pauper."

Norla sniffled twice before running back up to the loft, returning shortly with a fair sized pack. "There's clothes, dresses and breeches and tunics, as well as some jewlery and some sweetsand. Oh and a small purse of moeny. It isn't much, but I hope it will be enough to last you for a while, " she said before starting into fresh sobs.

Tirelle looked at the pack they had given her. Dakan had sacrificed almost everything to start his herd at Nerat, and he and Norla had been living on dreams for years. How, in Faranth's name, had they managed to save enough to put together a pack like this? "I can't except this. Dakan, Norla, you can't afford this. I can't-"

"Scortch it, girl," Dakan croaked, "Your the closest thing to a child we ever had. We were saving for when you were married, but you need this more now I think. So, just accept it and don't ask questions."

"You had better stop off at the Weaver Hall, dear, and say goodbye to Nellen," Norla said, her voice watery. "Run along now, those dragonmen won't wait forever."

Tirelle gave the two quick, but strong hugs before running out the door towards the crafthold.

She stood gasping at the steps of the weaver hall, fighting back the tears that her emotional departure from the herdbarn had caused, and was nearly run down by Marja as the woman exited the hall with the days washing. She barely hesitated as Tirelle jumped out of her way, and did not offer any words of apology to Tirelle, who was brushing herself off as Nellen walked out the door.

"Tirelle! Oh, gee, I'm sorry about Marja. She's angry because the dragonriders wouldn't buy from our pavillion, 'tho they were free enough with their gold at the smiths tent. I keep telling her, a dragonman has more use for a blade than a tapestry, but she won't listen."

Tirelle grimaced, thinking Marja's foul temper had more to do with Nellen's bruised face than it did with the dragonrider's spending habits. As harsh as the old Weaver woman was, she did love the boy. She sighed, and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

"Nellen," she began, "I'm afraid you'll have to look after yourself for a while." The boys head came up, but she continued. "I'm going to the Weyr. Those dragonmen that Marja's so mad at, they were riding in Search, and they want me to be a Candidate for the queen, can you believe it!" She hoped the enthusiasm in her voice would help dispell the boys fears.

It did not. Nellen's lip quivered and he hicoughed back a sob "Don't you like me anymore, Tirelle? Is that why you're leaving?"

Tirelle hugged the boy close. "No, Nellen. Why would you think that? Of course I still like you. But I can't watch out for you all your life. Your old enough to stand on your own now, and who knows? Maybe I'll become Weyrwoman and you can come and stay with me."

The boy nodded, his face pressed into her shoulder. Tirelle comforted him the best she could, but she soon disengaged his arms from around her. Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she started back to the Hold courtyard. She saw the dragons flying down from their perches along the ridgeline and knew she didn't have much time before the wing would be assembled and ready to fly, so she hurried her step.

She walked into the walled courtyard, and hoisted her pack a little higher on her shoulder. She scanned the many dragons, and noticing C'rel, standing by his magnificent brown beast, walked over to him.

"And who might I be riding with?" she asked, trying to make her voice light.

C'rel turned to face her, noticing the tight control in her voice. She was obviously upset. It wasn't easy for many to leave behind the life they knew to come to the Weyr. "Z'fan thought it would be best for you to ride with with me, since we are....well acquainted," he finished with a grin, trying to ease her anxiety.

Tirelle nodded and eyed Pearth, not with fear, but with curiosity. She took a step forward, and raised her hand, pausing and looking to C'rel for permission. He nodded to her, and Tirelle reached out again to stroke the brow ridges of the beast. Pearth rumbled his satisfaction, his many-faceted eyes swirling. "Thank you, Pearth. I owe you my life for hearing my call on Gather night," she said. Tirelle looked up and met C'rel's gaze. Their eyes locked, and both smiled. They looked away when Z'fan's crisp steps echoed through the courtyard, and he sent out the order to mount.

C'rel stepped back, and motioned her to mount, but before she could step round to the brown's side, she heard a call from across the stone courtyard.

"Wait," Dakan was calling. "Please, wait!"

Tirell turned, surprise written all over her fair face. "Dak," she said catching the man's arm when he reached her, "What in the name of the First Egg are you doing?"

"Forgot...to give you..." she stammered through gasps for air. "Couldn't...let you...go. Not...without..." He never finished, but held out a sword so beautiful that Tirelle inhaled sharply. The hand guard and hilt were of polished silver, both with an airy feel. The scabard was plain leather, but by pulling the blade out a few inches, she could see that it was etched in a beautiful design. "It was your father's," Dakan said, finally having caught his breath.

Tirelle didn't speak. She simply fastened the scabard's belt around her waist and gave Dakan a kiss on the cheek before leaping onto the back of the dragon. C'rel was soon behind her, and Pearth lifted himself from the ground. The wing formed quickly, and when Z'fan gave the signal, the dragons jumped _between_. The searing cold froze a single tear on Tirelle's face, causing her to gasp in pain. But seconds later, they were flying over Ista Weyr. Tirelle was exhilarated by the view the dragons height afforded, but the pain of leaving loved ones kept her from fully enjoying it.

"Welcome to Ista Weyr, Tirelle of Nerat," C'rel shouted above the whipping winds. -_Yes-_ she thought, -_Ista Weyr, where I may one day be Weyrwoman-_. As she saw women of the Lower Caverns come to collect her, she wondered if this was truly happening, or a dream. She dared not pinch herself to check, because if it was a dream, she didn't want to wake up.


	3. Sparring

**Sparring**

(AN: Kind of a light and fluffy chapter, a lot shorter than the other two, but things will pick back up in a bit. Thanks to Lesza, Asukasammy, and Renegade Elementalist for their favourites. And please review! I think my writing kiss ass, but I need you to make it better! Like usual, all glory to Anne McCaffrey for creating this world.)

Tirelle eyed the green rider she had spent the night with warmly. She hated to wake him, but she had plans for the morning involving the Arms Master of Ista Weyr, and she didn't want to leave him without a farewell. She cinched her belt, and woke him with a deep kiss and a short farewell, before leaving his weyr, her boots clicking on the stone.

Since arriving at the Weyr, Tirelle had been spending the days practising with her new blade, and the nights sparring in another manner entirely, enticing whatever dragonman caught her interest. She was a sensual woman, and she viewed sex as a physical release that she enjoyed. The women of the Lower Caverns, especially the headwoman Nerya, gave her looks of disapproval as she walked back to the room she had been given to collect her blade. The room was small, but adequate to her needs. Tirelle came to the Weyr with few possessions, and she rarely slept in her own room. Belting on the sword, she walked to the practice field with her chin high, daring anyone to question her on her...sleeping arrangements.

She didn't fully understand their disapproval. In a place where dragon-roused passion overrode personal preference, and made it almost impossible to create a long standing relationship, her trysts were no different than a green riders promiscuous romps. -_perhaps they think it improper behaviour for a queen rider-_ she thought. It was true, after the first mating flight, a queen usually chose the same bronze with which to mate, but there had been stories of queens nearly as indiscriminate as greens.

Shaking out of her negative musings, Tirelle walked across the Bowl to the practise grounds. Walking through the gate, she breathed in the talc and dust smell that permeated the grounds before walking over to the rack and taking down a leather cover for her sword. Most of her practise happened on the posts, a set of spinning logs, with arms jutting out to block and parry, and she didn't wish to damage her swords keen edge.

Tirelle smiled at the Arms Master, and the other dragonmen in the practise grounds, before stepping into the center of the ring of posts. She began with basic movements, which had at first seemed so difficult to execute properly, but she could now do with her eyes closed. Once she had warmed up, she stepped between two of the posts, and began, blocking, dodging, and deflecting their wooden arms. She had worked up a fair sweat and had stepped back out of the ring, now going through her basic movements again when she heard a voice behind her.

"You move well," the Z'fan said, "Excellent form."

She finished her series of strokes, then took a deep breath and turned to face the dragon man, smiling when she saw he was joined by C'rel.

"I've had plenty of time to practise," she responded. "Are the Eggs hardening well?" she asked. She had been at the Weyr for two sevendays already, and was becoming impatient

"Yes, in fact we expect a Hatching within the next few days," Z'fan said, smiling at her impatience. He had returned from Search long before any other wing, in fact some wings were still away from the Weyr. But after watching Tirelle around the Weyr, he was confident that he had picked the best Candidate. Let them take their time, choosing the most talented or beautiful of the women, he had the most fiery and passionate, and those qualities would make for a strong Weyrwoman.

Tirelle returned the wingleaders smile, but it was tight and artificial. She was fed up with waiting. At Nerat, she had been kept busy from sunup to sundown, and her comparative idleness at the Weyr meant that she was getting bored.

Z'fan sensed that she willed him gone, so he tactfully turned to leave. "I will let you continue your practising. I must speak with the Weyrleader." Z'fan excused himself with a slight bow.

Tirellle turned back to the posts, but she could feel C'rel still watching her; he had not left with his wingleader. "Z'fan is right, you know. You do have perfect form," C'rel told her admiringly, but the husk of his voice told her that his eyes weren't on her sword.. "Come on, you've been at those posts long enough. Time for something a little more engaging."

Tirelle heard the whisper of steel as C'rel drew his own sword, and she turned to see him covering the blade with a leather sleeve of his own.

Smiling, she followed him to the sparing circle. Once there, she noticed his grin, and her smile brightened. All her pevious sparring partners had either been young boys hoping to impress her or older men, hoping to convince her to leave what they thought of as a mans domain. C'rel, she thought a they circled, looked at her as an equal.

As he rushed her, testing her defenses, she easily parried and pressed him to test his own. He had the advantage of reach, she decided, but he could not move like her. His obviously strong body was too muscle bound to have her flexibility and speed. So on his next offensive, she ducked rather than parried. The less she raised her blade, the more strength she could save, so she danced around C'rel, dodging with the occasional parry, until the broke, both drawing heavy breaths.

C'rel admired her speed and agility, not to mention how her taught muscled moved under her tight leather breeches and light tunic. Knowing that his advantage lay in brute strength and close quarters, he timed his rush to match hers, braced as their blades hit and locked. He stared into Tirelle's wild green eyes, noticing in passing that her long hair was escaping the tie that held it back. He was surprised that she was holding up the block even as he poured his strength against her blade

"Shards, but you have skill, girl," he complimented before putting all him effort into pushing her back and to the ground. He felt her give, and struck down, thinking she had succumbed and fell. As dust cleared, he noticed that his sword pointed at empty ground, and he felt a tap from behind on his shoulder. He turned slowly, hands wide in surrender.

"Yes," he chuckled, "skilled, indeed."

Tirelle smiled at the dragonman, her face flushed with exertion and, she admitted, attraction. She had to admit that their night together at Nerat had been nothing short of earth-shaking. And, by the look in his eyes, C'rel was eager and willing to repeat the performance. Tirelle smiled. _-If he wants me-_ she thought _-he will have to work for me-._ She walked passed him, shaking out her long, red hair.

C'rel breathed deeply, taking in the scent, the essence, of this fiery woman. They returned the blade covers, and Tirelle began walking back to her room in the Lower Caverns. C'rel quickened his step, and put his arm around her strong shoulders, halting her.

"Where are you hurrying off to," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled before responding. "Back to my room, I'd like to get out of these dusty clothes, perhaps bathe," she left the sentence hanging in the air, and began to step away, but C'rel's arm on her shoulder led her in a different direction.

"I have a bathing room in my weyr," he said as he led her to the opening in the cliff face that led to the dragon weyrs. "And as for clothes," he continued, "I doubt you'll be needing those for a while."

Tirelle's eyes brightened, and she giggled as C'rel pulled her through the curtain leading to his weyr. -_She is a strong one-_ Pearth thought to his rider -_Strong and willful-._

_-You approve?-_ C'rel asked his life mate, only half listening as the woman in his arms stripped him.

C'rel was soon too lost in sensation to hear the thoughts Pearth was sending him. As he and Tirelle fell into oblivion, C'rel had one last thought. -_Faranth, let her not Impress-_ he begged silently -_Only bronzes fly queens, and I can't turn a brown into a bronze. Let her not Impress, and let her be mine. _


	4. Wills

**Wills**

(AN: Another shorter one, but important, begins the setup of bad guys! I really have no idea where this story is going at the moment, but its taking me for a ride, thats for sure. Reviews are LOVE!)

Tirelle woke with a start from a dream, then relaxed back into the warm bed when she realized who lay beside her. That C'rel never ceased to amaze. She slipped out of the furs to the bath, quickly scrubbing the dirt and dust of the practice grounds out of her skin. It was only just passed noon, although she had been very busy.

She heard C'rel rouse in the sleeping room and smiled. The man had stamina, that was certain, but something bothered her. During their lovemaking, his eyes had taken on a wild, possessive look that did not suite her at all. Frowning, she decided to end the tryst. She would not avoid him, that was too obvious, and there were subtler ways to distance herself from the dragonman. She would miss him in her bed, since he was by far the best lover she had had, but possession was not something she was interested in. Let those ninnies in the Lower Caverns dream of mates and children, Tirelle had more to occupy her mind than _that._

------------------------------

On arrival at the Weyr, Tirelle had been introduced to the other bronze riders. Only one stuck out in her mind, one named E'bor. He was polite to a fault, but his eyes were cold, cruel, and calculating. B'lon, the blue rider from Z'fan's wing, agreed that he could be cold, but assured her that the man was faithful to Weyr as any, and a fine wngleader. Tirelle took the information with thanks, and decided to quietly keep an eye on the man. He was the only man in the Weyr who seemed immune to her charms.

Not that he wasn't attracted. She had seen him eyeing her hips as she walked passed. Then why wouldn't the man fall? What was he waiting for, Impression? But that wasn't a for sure thing, Maybe he was waiting until he was sure she _wouldn't_ Impress, to be certain he could have her without competition from the other bronzes. If that was so, he was sorely mistaken. There were many brown, blue, and green riders that held more attraction for her than the stoney bronze rider.

She had tried to seduce him, as she had all the bronze riders. She had wanted to know what each rider was like when alone, and impassioned. If she did Impress, her and her queen would have to choose the strongest of them to be Weyrleader. All that nonsense about the strongest and fastest was rediculous. The queen had to consent to the mating, which meant the rider had to consent to the man

Tirelle broke from her thoughts as she walked out into the Bowls bright sunlight. She walked down to the lake and flopped onto the sandy shore. Two blues and a brown were bathing, sending waves her way, but none were large enough to wet her.

Unlike other queen Candidates who locked themselves inside, away from the great beasts, Tirelle was fascinated with the dragons. She turned when she heard footsteps approaching, and smiled as she recognized the young man

"Afternoon, Tilec" she said with a smile.

The boy merely smiled in response. He had been brought from a small farmhold not far from the Weyr itself, a candidate for one of the thiry-seven mottled eggs containing a fighting dragon. So far the only one of the Candidates she had met, she liked Tilec's quiet manner, and they often sat together at mealtimes, or whenever they happened to meet really.

Today they sat in in silence, watching the dragons, each with their own thoughts. They looked as they heard the dinner bell peal, and rose quickly to reach the Great Hall in time to secure their favourite table. As they raced through the corridors, they dropped caution in favour of the thrill of speed. A bad decision, as it led to Tilec running headlong into E'bor as he exited the Hall.

E'bor threw Tilec to the floor in reflex, then sneered when he saw who it was that had hit him. Tilec glared up at the bronze rider, which caused a white fury in E'bor.

"Insolent child. You'd do well to remember to show respect for a bronze rider," he said coldly, drawing hid sword and aiming its flat side at Tilec.

Tirelle immediately drew her own blade, glad she had began carrying it with her. E'bor caught the sound and turned. He could not see the face of the figure standing in the shadowed corridor, but the figure wore breeches. Assuming it was another young man, E'bor faced him without fear.

"You think hard on that son," he said, "Crossing blades with a dragonman is an insult usually only forgiven in mortal combat. You still think it wise?"

"Tirelle walked slowly from the shadows, sword held ready in front, until she was bathed in light streaming in from the Great Hall's windows. "And you," she snapped, "crossing blades with a woman you may shortly call Weyrwoman? Who you may have to bow to and honour? You think THAT wise?" Tirelle did nothing to hide the threat in her voice, and she met E'bors hard stare with one of her own. "We behaved poorly, bronze rider, in showing such lack of decorum. Report us to the Candidate Master if you wish, as that is your right and duty. But drawing a blade on an unarmed man, whether or not you intended to only use the flat of the blade, is hardly an act worthy or a dragonrider, especially a bronze rider with hopes of becoming Weyrleader. Me drawing in response can hardly be seen as a disrespectful act in such circumstances, wouldn't you agree?"

Tirelle stood, staring down the bronze rider until he broke eye contact. With a curt nod, he sheathed his sword and went to go passed her. As he stepped beside her, he said acidly, "I will not forget this, girl."

"Neither will I," Tirelle responded. "My Lord," she added coldly with a slight nod of her head. The man stormed passed, his footsteps echoing loudly.

Tirelle let out her breathe in a whoosh as soon as E'bor was out of hearing. She slumped against the wall in relief that she had not been forced to fight the dragon rider. Bronze riders especially were a breed apart, and she didn't think she was a good enough swordsman to take one down in a duel.

At least, not yet.

"Tilec," she said, helping the boy off of the floor, "next time you want to pick a fight, make sure it isn't an armed dragonman."

Tilec smiled sheepishly, then turned with Tirelle to walk into the Great Hall, leaving the tension of the corridor behind them.


	5. Impression

**Impression**

(AN: so very short chapter, but i kind of wanted to keep this scene on its own, and I'll upload another chapter tonite as well. i also introduced some new characters to get to know and love! thanks to Dae the Shadow for his favorite and to Asukasammy for her review. ive tried to take it to heart! enjoy and review!)

Tirelle noticed a difference in the general buzz of conversation in the Great Hall as she walked in. Everyone was very excited. Tirelle kept catching the word Hatching as she and Tilec sat at their normal table with some of the other Candidates.

"-very well could happen tomorrow, I mean the sands are hot enough. Rumour is that a drudge saw one of the Eggs rocking, though what she was doing near them-" Tirelle stopped listening, and just grinned at the other Candidates.

"Impression," Tilec said, and Tirelle's smile grew.

"But it might not be as close as you think. I've heard eggs can begin rocking days before the actual Hatching," Menahra, a petite brunette Candidate for the unhatched queen, said soberly.

"Ya, but still, only a few more days at the most! And that old green rider is right about the sands. Remember to put boots on before you come for the Hatching, girls, your sandals won't do it," Raxen, a husky young man with sandy hair piped up.

"Jeez, I'm not sure whether to be excited or terrified. Some of those Impression stories are pretty brutal." Jaredin, the wiry boy with the shock of dark hair said quietly. His comment sobered the whole group, and everyone turned inward, examining there own fears of the Impression ceremony.

"Ya," Raxen burst out first, "Probably cause those stories were written by the ones who didn't Impress!" His light banter broke the group from their brooding, and excitement returned.

-----------------------

Tirelle was being shaken awake. Coming from deep sleep, it took her a few seconds to recognize Z'fan standing over her, and a few more to realize that it was still dark as _between_ out.

"Z'fan, what by the Egg is-"

"The dragons keen," he interupted her, "Hatching is beinning."

Only then did Tirelle become aware of a high-pitched hum coming from somewhere in the Weyr, or more accurately, everywhere in the Weyr. Quickly, she snatched off the furs, not even noticing as Z'fan turned his head from her naked body. Before she could dress, the bronze rider handed her the traditional white robe. No sooner had she pulled the thing over her head and managed to pull on her thick-soled boots, then Z'fan was pushing her down the hall toward the Hatching Cavern.

Inside the Cavern, dragons swooped and dove, some dropping Candidates on the sands, some coming merely for the spectacle. Tirelle soon found herself standing beside eight other girls in front of the great, golden egg. She smiled shakily at Menahra, but neither of them could hide from the truth. They were terrified, and they had every right to be. Stories of Hatchings were usually grizzly.

Tirelle looked at the group of young men, now moved to action by the rocking of the many mottled eggs. The old queen watched on as the first of her brood broke the shell. The ungainly thing that appeared clawed its way out of the egg and stumbled toward the group of terrified boys. Before Tirelle could see who was chosen as the awkward things life mate, a collective gasp from the other girls forced her to turn back. The golden egg was rocking violently. The girls had huddled in a group, somehow with Tirelle right in the middle, and were squealing in fright as the gold dragonet broke free. It stumbled its way towards the group, scanning their faces, then made a run straight for Tirelle. None of the group breathed as the young queen raced, tripped, and fell. Tirelle was about to help the poor thing when she noticed that its head was still up, eyes whirling as it stared at its life mate.

Menahra gasped and ran forward from where she had been hiding behind Tirelle to embrace her new queen.

Tirelle moved to let the sobbing girl pass, heartbroken. Where would she go now? Back to the Hold where she had bloodied the future Lord? Or stay at the Weyr, in the Lower Caverns?She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice the unfamiliar brown rider that came to lead her away, nor did she notice the other sobbing, rejected girls. As she was walking out, however, a flash of green caught her eye. The young dragonet was staring at her, standing square in her path, head tilted to the side. As soon as Tirelle met those jewelled eyes, a feeling like no other washed over her. She fell to her knees and embraced the scaley head.

_I was wondering if I was going to have to trip you to get your attention_ Sirenith thought to her weyrmate. Tirelle laughed, stroking the bright green head.

_I was distracted, but I'm here now_ she thought back.

_I'm happy for that, but could we perhaps get something to eat?_


	6. Family

**Family**

(AN: I guess you could call this the second part of chapter five, but like i said in the previous chapter. I thought these two sections needed seperation.)

_Could we perhaps get something to eat?_

"Not until you've been bathed and oiled. You know you fall asleep so quickly after feeding," Tirelle said aloud to reenforce the point.

_Cyanth is on his third wherrie_ Sirenith pouted.

"Don't worry. Tilec, I mean, T'lec won't let him eat them all on you. Besides, that blue dotes on you. He's only bragging about eating to tease you." Tirelle said as she walked into the lake with Sirenith.

_Flargeth is also allowed to eat before his wash_ the little green continued to pout.

_Neither Cyanth, nor Flargeth fall asleep the minute they are full,_ Tirelle thought back.

After Sirenith had splashed enough water on herself for a dragon twice her size, Tirelle began scrubbing with the sand.

_Why do you splash so much?_ Tirelle asked the dragonet. _The cleansing sand only needs a little water to work._

_It scares the fish_ Sirenith responded, wriggling with pleasure as Tirelle began scrubbing an itchy dorsal ridge.

Tirelle laughed aloud. She had not even known there were fish in the lake. Leave it to Sirenith to find someone smaller than she to tease.

"Sirenith being her usual, feisty self, I take it?" a cheery voice called from behind. Tirelle turned to see Menahra and her growing gold queen. Brigeth was easily twice as large as the little Sirenith, and growing much faster. Tirelle knew that greens were the smallest of the dragons, but even compared to the other greens, Sirenith was quite petite. Tirelle didn't mind, though. The small dragonet was growing into a beautiful dragon; sleek, with the brightest green hide anyone had ever seen. Not to mention the speed bathing and oiling could be done in. _Yes_ thought Tirelle _I'm very happy you aren't as large as Brigeth._

Sirenith purred at the compliment, then rolled over, giving Tirelle and Menahra a thorough wetting.

As Pass was just beginning, there were many of these days; slow, generally relaxing days with only drills to worry about. The year that had passed since Impression could be called nothing but idilic, and now, with Cold coming on, all of the weyrlings were excited about visiting family.

All but Tirelle.

The auburn haired girl desperately missed Dakan and Norla. She even missed Stefan and the other farm hands. But with all the stories that were being traded around the tables at mealtimes, tales of mothers cooking and fathers antics after a little too much wine, it made Tirelle realize how much she wished she could remember her parents. She loved Dak and the rest, but she needed to learn about her true parents, and that would require a little research. So, she had volunteered to stay at the Weyr for the full Cold, to take advantage of the Records Room.

Her friends were all shocked, but she dodged their inquiries.

"They need some weyrlings to stay. I mean, dragons still need to fly here in the south, even if Thread is turning to black dust in the north," Tirelle explained, toying with the hilt of her sword that was always at her side now. Her father's sword.

"Yes, but the Northern Weyrs have volunteered riders to assist us and Igen in covering absences. Even some of the older riders are taking a few sevendays to visit family." R'xen pressed, his bronze Flargeth rumbling his agreement.

"Yes, well it also gives me and Sirenith a free Bowl to practise in, not to mention building up our stamina. It's still a stretch, carrying firestone sacks for a full Fall." Tirelle countered,

"Plus, Sirenith should be nearing her first mating flight," Menahra added. "If Tirelle stays at the Weyr, Sirenith will have plenty of handsome beasts to choose from."

The group laughed, including Tirelle. She was mostly glad that the subject was closed, but didn't let on her relief, for fear it would start a new round of questions.

Conversation turned to their upcoming induction into the wings. "So have you made up your mind yet, Tirelle?" J'din asked.

Tirelle looked puzzled, having not been paying close attention to the thread of conversation. "About what?" she asked.

R'xen rolled his eyes. "Your name, of course," he explained. "Whether you'll contract it or not. I mean, you're not a queen rider, and every other fighting dragon rider shortens their name. K'res already told you he needs to know before graduation."

"You've had since Impression to make up your mind, Tirelle," J'din added, "Stop being a sharding procrastintor."

Tirelle thought about the idea. Traditionally, female candidates only impressed queens, so the names were never altered. But recently, with women Impressing fighting dragons, some changes had to be made. To allow for continuity in the wings, female riders had the option to shorten their name or not.

"T'relle sounds nice," T'lec offered.

Tirelle gave him a smile. "It does, doesn't it? I guess you all will just have to wait until graduation to find out won't you?" she teased. R'xen groaned, and dropped his head in his hands. The young bronze rider hated surprises, and his Flargeth bugled his disappointment..

The group laughed at his dismay, and Tirelle smile, happy to have people to laugh with so far away from home.

C'rel looked over at the group of laughing weyrlings from his seat with his wing. He had been able to do little but watch the vibrant women, what with either her running drills or him flying Thread. But he was confident that when Sirenith rose, his Pearth would be the one to catch her. The memory of her in his arms was too strong for him to not want it repeated. When her dragon rose, he would be there to help her remember as well.


	7. Stories

**Stories**

(AN: Thank you to Brownriderco for beta-ing this! Things start to come together now, and we get a lil more of Tirelle's backstory, and of her and C'rel's relationship.)

Tirelle watched as a leaf was blown across the practise grounds. The yard was deserted, so she was taking advantage of the space to practise with her sword again. She hadn't had much opportunity since Impression for practising her blade-work, and wanted to keep her level of skill. The long hours of training also took her mind off of loneliness. The other weyrlings had left nearly a month before, so physical activity was a welcome diversion.

It also distracted her from the fact that her research wasn't going well. There was no mention of fires around Keroon Hold in Ista's Records Room. She had asked Menahra to pass a request for records from Igen onto the Weyrwoman, but she wasn't sure if Lady Syrah had actually sent the request, and she was not bold enough to bother the Weyrwoman about it herself.

She sighed, finishing her stroke pattern, and walking out of the practise yard. She hated this endless waiting. It seemed like that was all she had done since coming to the Weyr. Waiting for Hatching, waiting for Sirenith to get big enough for flying drills, waiting for Fall, and now waiting for these sharding records.

_I did not mean to keep you waiting,_ she heard Sirenith's sad thought from where the beautiful green was napping on the heights.

Tirelle smiled, silently berating herself for blaming her dragon for her own impatience. _It isn't you, dear heart. I'm just restless. I didn't mean to wake you._

Tirelle walked into the Weyr, trying to dispell the urge to scream out her frustrations. The Great Hall was almost as empty as the practise grounds. There were a few groups of riders, small trios or pairs, relaxing with mugs of klah and meat rolls. Tirelle looked over towards the large hearth at the end of the hall, and recognized T'don, the Weyrsinger and blue rider, sitting on his stool, strumming his guitar and singing quietly. Beside him sat C'rel, and his presence caused Tirelle to pause before walking over to join them. C'rel and she had not had much chance to speak since Impression, and when they did, it was hurried and to the point. She had to admit that she missed him.

Tirelle took a seat across from C'rel, nodding to the brown rider, but not speaking. T'don was strumming on his guitar and making notations on a hide he had laid on a bench before him, and she did not want to disturb him. When he had finished his line of music, he looked up and smiled at her.

"Good morning, Tirelle. My duty to your pretty little Sirenith," he said, with a smile. Tirelle like the Weyrsinger, and returned his smile warmly. He had a way about him that seemed to calm her when she was stressed. Like now.

"Morning, T'don, and my duty to Duranth. Is his wing healing well?" she asked.

The serene man nodded, "We will be flying next Fall, if all goes as smoothly as it has been," answered, before gathering up his quills, ink, and hides.

"Oh, please, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll leave if you are busy," she said, halting his hand.

T'don gave her another peaceful smile before shaking his head. "I wasn't really working on anything important, just a little project to keep me occupied between Falls."

C'rel laughed at the Weyrsinger, "Obsession would be closer to the truth. I've rarely seen a Harper spend so much time on one ballad, and T'don here also has to fly Thread and care for a dragon."

"Oh? You have been writing a ballad?" Tirelle said, hoping he would volunteer more information, but not wanting to pry. She had a great amount of respect for the Weyrsinger, given his skill with a guitar.

T'don gave C'rel a sour look for his teasing, then turned and smiled at Tirelle. "Yes, a ballad, based on a story I heard when I was in Keroon. Amazing story. Dragonriders, lovers, villains. The stuff the best ballads are made of. Would you like to hear some?" he asked her.

Tirelle nodded, not bothering to hide her enthusiasm. Keroon. Perhaps, if T'don was going to return to the Hold for more information for his ballad, she could impose on him to bring back records from thirteen Turns ago.

The Weyrsinger began strumming a dreamy melody in a minor key.

_Dragons, fly_

_Protect and save_

_But beware_

_Of silken skin_

_And soft locks_

_Of auburn hair_

_Dragon man_

_Keep yourself true_

_And sear the sky_

_Exile is not_

_For those who still_

_Have wings to fly_

T'don continued, weaving a story or a young bronze rider, favourite to be the next Weyrleader of Igen and fly the queen, and mate with the rider that had been chosen as Weyrwoman. But that man fell in love. With a Holder's daughter, who was engaged to another. A woman he could never have.

So he fled, left the Weyr. He flew his dragon to the Hold where his lover waited, and the two fled to the vast rolling plains north of Keroon. He found a cave to serve as weyr in the cliffs, and they stayed there until his lover became pregnant.

Knowing that she would need help that he could not give her, The bronze rider left his dragon waiting in the hills, and he and his lover moved into a small farmhold, near Keroon, as husband and wife. And there they stayed for years, even having another child. The dragonman was a normal farmer to the people of the small hold, but every day he would leave to visit his dragon in the hills. His dragon did not mind the separation. The bronze loved the woman as the man did, and together they kept her safe.

One day, a young man followed the bronze rider to the hills, curious why the dragonman always left the fields at this time of day. When he saw the great bronze beast, he understood. This was the man that had kidnapped the Holder's daughter. He sent a message immediately to the womans abandoned fiancé, telling him where the couple was hidden. Her fiancé began planning his revenge.

Being of privilege, the scorned man had very powerful friends. One of these must have been a dragon rider. Whether he lied to the dragon rider, spinning a tale to instigate his actions, or whether the dragonman was cruel enough to go along with the plan is unsure. All that was known was a lone dragon burst from _between_ above the lovers home, and set it ablaze. The bronze that was hiding in the hills awoke to his riders distress, and flew as fast as his wings would allow back to his lifemate. He would arrive too late.

His lifemate had escaped the inferno, and so he mounted his bronze partner as soon as he arrived. Both were in a fury. Fighting back the strange dragon, the bronze dove into the burning house, trying to save his lover or their children. Instead he found the body of his wife, charred. The bronze rider felt such pain as to rival that of loosing his dragon. He and his bronze both screamed in their anguish, and then turned to attack the dragon. The fight was spectacular, but the runaway rider and his bronze were out of their heads with grief, and the attacking bronze bathed them in his flaming breath. In burning agony, that was so much less than the emotional pain they both felt, the pair diappeared to _between_, never to return.

Tirelle had tears standing in her eyes when T'don strummed the last chord. She wiped them away before T'don looked up from his instrument. "An emotional tale, Weyrsinger," she complimented him. When she looked up, she caught C'rel watching her, and gave him a soft smile.

T'don smiled sadly. "It is a shame that we have such brutality in our ways, but it serves as a lesson to future generations, about allowing our emotions to rule our actions. I was surprised that no Harper had decided to turn the story into song, but then again, it is not an old tale, so they may not have got around to it yet."

"No?" Tirelle asked, "How old is this tale?"

"Less than fifteen Turns," the blue rider sighed. "They even remember the couples names. T'rek and Myrelle. Though I would never put their names into the ballad. It has a much stronger message if they remain nameless, don't you think? It makes the listener relate, possibly putting themselves into the ballad."

The Weyrsinger had turned his focus on the music, so Tirelle excused herself quietly. She was deeply moved by the story, and she had to work to keep from weeping openly.

_You are distressed,_ Sirenith thought to her. _What can I help with?_

Tirelle tried to cheer her thoughts. _I'm fine, love. I just heard a very sad song, but I'll be ok._

_Well, if your really ok, can you come and give me a scrub,_ Sirenith thought, _I have a patch on my back that is awfully itchy._

Sirenith's antics brought a smile to Tirelle's face, as usual. The woman walked over to her life mate, who was already splashing in the lake. As Tirelle scrubbed the green hide, she thought about the doomed lovers in T'don's ballad. They had children, and a happy life, and it all came crashing down because of one man's wish for revenge. _I wonder what their children's names were? _She thought. Sirenith only grumbled in response, bubbles coming up from her submerged head.

_Pearth's rider is approaching, _Sirenith thought to Tirelle. The woman turned and smiled as C'rel waded into the lake. "You needn't get yourself wet, wingsecond. I'll only be a minute scrubbing Sirenith, and then I could join you on the shore,"

"No need to hurry," the brown rider said lightly. "Besides, I think Pearth could use a little bathing as well." As he finished, the large brown bugled his protest, then lifted into the air and landed with a large splash in the lake. The two humans laughed at his reluctance.

_Pearth has fine colour, and flies fast_,_ don't you think?_ Sirenith thought to Tirelle, stopping her laughter.

_Are you that near your mating flight that you are considering mates?_ Tirelle thought back, her face serious. Not that she would mind C'rel as a bedmate, but she didn't want dragon-passions to break the careful balance she was trying to keep with C'rel.

C'rel noticed her change in mood. "Is Sirenith alright?" he asked, trying to guess what would cause the normally exuberant woman to go so sombre.

"What? Oh yes, she just said something...unexpected," Tirelle explained, her smile returning to her face.

C'rel nodded, accepting the fact that she would not confide in him. They continued making light conversation until the sun began to set.

"Beautiful," Tirelle murmured. Then she sighed sadly.

C'rel placed a hand on her shoulder. "You've been so serious tonight. What's troubling you?" he asked.

Tirelle looked up at the brown rider. "I just wonder why the lovers in T'don's ballad had to be treated so cruelly. Shouldn't love such as theirs be allowed to live?"

He frowned. "Love is a tricky thing," he said seriously, but he smiled as he continued, "You also have to remember, this is a country tale. The story has probably been stretched to the point where it hardly resembles what truly happened.

--------------------

Later than night, as Tirelle slept in the practically empty weyrling barracks, she dreamed of T'rek and Myrelle, parts of the story blending with an old familiar dream.

_Smoke filling her young lungs. Running through the burning hallway of the house. _Please,_ she thought_, I'm scared, I don't want to die._ And then the feeling of flying, and angel wings._

Tirelle sat up in her bed, gasping. Everything had just fallen in place.

T'rek. Myrelle. If they had a child and named it according to tradition, then a boy would likely be named T'rel, or a girl....

Tirelle.

These weren't just dreams, they were memories. And it wasn't angels that lifted her from the burning wreckage of her house.

It was dragons.


	8. Doubts and Promises

**Doubts and Promises**

(AN: Ok so kinda a filler chapter. I'll be uploading 2 today to make up for that. And get ready, after these chapters, things are going to get majorly shaken up.)

At first light, Tirelle walked quickly into the Great Hall. As she had hoped, C'rel was already there, sipping klah and speaking quietly with Z'fan and a few other wingleaders and seconds. Thread would fly later today, so most of the riders were in the Hall, eating early to make time for harnessing their beasts, as well as planning wing placements with the volunteer wings from the Northern Weyrs.

C'rel saw Tirelle approaching, and quiety excused himself from the discussion. He smiled in greeting as he walked towards her.

"Tirelle, good morning. My duty to -"

"She still sleeps, and I did not come here for pleasantries." Tirelle interrupted him, not caring how rude she sounded. She was too tense to heed formality. "C'rel, I need your help."

The brown rider's face showed his concern. "What happened, Tirelle. Did something happen to you?"

"You might say that," Tirelle said under her breath. "Do you remember the ballad that T'don played for us last night? About the doomed lovers?" she said at a normal volume.

C'rel relaxed slightly. "Tirelle, that isn't still bothering you is it? I tell you, its a country fable thats probably-"

"I think its about my parents," Tirelle interupted him again. C'rel fell into shocked silence, so she continued. "Listen, I know it sounds insane. Shards, I'm not even sure I know what I'm saying. But I was born on a farmhold north of Keroon Hold. My parents, and my little sister," she paused to swallow a sob that threatened to escape, "they all died in a fire, when I was seven Turns old. Thirteen Turns ago. And lately I've been having these dreams, dreams of my past, of fires, and of dragons. Please, I know how crazy this all sounds, but I need to speak with whoever told that tale to T'don."

C'rel was shaking his head. "Tirelle, it could be coincidence. That was thirteen Turns ago, and there are several farmholds north of Keroon."

"I know, just, please, trust me. Whoever told that story, he was talking about my parents. I know it!" Tirelle said with such force that C'rel was a little frightened. The girl was breathing heavily, hysterical. She still had to fly firestone sacks for Fall, and she didn't need these distractions.

"Alright, Tirelle. Its alright. Tomorrow, I'll ask T'don who he got the story from. Then, If I can, I'll go and speak with the man."

Tirelle shook her head. "You must bring him back here, I need to speak with him," she said, toying with the hilt of her sword, tracing the intricate designs of the hand guard, "I have so many questions..."

C'rel nodded, still taken aback by her focus on the subject. "If I can find him, I'll bring him back," he said softly, trying to calm her.

Her smile, was bright and fierce, and a little wild. She threw her arms around the brown rider. "Thank you," she whispered. C'rel returned the embrace, before unlatching her arms from around his neck. He then walked her over to a table, sitting beside her and calling for klah for the both of them.

"Are you sure you are clear enough to fly?" he asked. He was worried about her. Such an inexperienced rider didn't need any added distractions when she was flying through Thread, and _between_ besides.

Tirelle sipped at the mug of klah brought to her by a serving woman, and was consciously slowing her breathing. She hadn't meant to get that excited, especially not in front of C'rel. "Yes, yes I'll be fine. I just got a little worked up. I've gone so long without knowing. And now, when it's so close..."

"Tirelle," C'rel said quietly, "This may not lead to any answers for you."

Tirelle nodded. "I know, but," her voice dropped to a whisper, "I have to try. I have to know."

------------------------

_How does that feel, dear heart?_ Tirelle thought to Sirenith. _Anything too tight?_

_No, _Sirenith thought back, _But the strap on my right forearm seems a little loose._

Tirelle walked over and adjusted the offending strap. _There, all ready for flight._

_You were feeling unsettled earlier, _ the dragon said, almost accused, _My dreams were disturbed. And you are still not calm. Should we stay on the ground today?_

Tirelle frowned. She was still "unsettled", as Sirenith pointed out, but there was no way she was staying grounded. The only way she knew of to settle her nerves was exertion and adrenaline. What better for that than flying a flaming dragon through Thread. Even if they were just lugging firestone, It would at least take the edge off, and she and Sirenith could run flame drills after Fall, if she needed to.

_We will be fine, love. Do you really want to stay here? If Flargeth were here, he'd tease you for being a scared little wherrie._

_But Flargeth is not here, and yes I do want to fly, but I am worried about you,_ Sirenith crooned. Tirelle scratched her eye ridge, trying to calm the green.

Sirenith's head turned toward the Bowl, where the dragon wings were assembled. _Gith tells me that K'res wishes to speak to all the weyrlings flying today._

Tirelle nodded, and attaching the strap of her riding helmet, she climbed onto her dragons back, settling into the harness as Sirenith took flight. They didn't reach very high as they glided to the other side of the Bowl, but Tirelle revelled in the fierce joy of flight. Her mind cleared, almost as if the winds whipping past were taking all her cares and fears with them. _I'm glad,_ Sirenith thought to her rider as she began spiralling down to land with the other weyrlings.

K'res was standing next to his blue Gith, watching the weyrlings land with a blank face. When they were assembled, he began.

"Since there are so few of you, you will have to fly very efficiently. Make sure the reference that I give you is the EXACT one you use to carry sacks to the riders. This is not a time for creativity and experimentation. The closer you get to your target by going _between_, the less energy your dragon will have to use, and the longer they can fly." the old blue rider said sternly, eyeing them each individually. "Keep an eye on your dragon's strength. If they begin to fatigue, pass the message along and I will send out their replacement on the next run. Keep sharp, and fly well," a rare grin spread across the old mans face, "I know you won't let me down."

The weyrling's almost full grown dragons bugled their salute to the Weyrling Master. Their roars were echoed by those of the wings, now aloft, as they blinked _between_ to fight Threads over Igen Hold.

The Weyrling Master went stern again. "You know your duty, mount up! Formation! When those dragon wings call for firestone, will there be hesitation? Will there be confusion?"

"No, sir!" The weyrlings called in unison. Tirelle's eyes sparkled. She had front of formation this Fall, meaning she would be first to go when firestone was called for. It also meant she would be flying for most, if not all of the Fall.

_Gith's rider approaches,_ Sirenith thought to her as she was strapping the firestone sacks to her harness. Tirelle looked down and met eyes with the Weryling Master.

"A problem, sir?" she asked.

"No, Tirelle, at least not yet," he looked up at her, "Can you handle being first on call? Sirenith is such a little thing. Can she handle flying for a full Fall?"

Sirenith roared her defiance at K'res's doubt. Tirelle laughed. "I think you have your answer, Weyrling Master. I'll keep an eye on her, and I'll let you know if she tires. But we will have the chance to rest between runs. I think we'll be fine, sir."

K'res smiled, making eye contact with Sirenith. "Good. She's a smart and agile beast, and will be an asset when it comes her time to fight Thread," he said, before looking up at Tirelle, "Like rider, like dragon." His face hardened as he got a message from his Gith. "Olmeth says F'lin needs firestone. Here is your reference."

Tirelle got the image, passed to her from Sirenith. Igen plain rolling below, the sky filled with dragons.

_Ready, dearest?_ she thought to Sirenith, as they took to the air.

_Always,_ was the only response, before they winked _between_, the image of Igen cemented in their mind.


	9. Thread

**Thread**

(AN: nothing really to add to this. Just read, enjoy, and please review!)

Tirelle and Sirenith burst out of _between_ in the middle of a whorl of dragons. Bronze, brown, blue, and green, all moving too fast for her to keep track of, yet all in perfect synchronization. She caught a glint of gold from below, and noticed the gold wing, flame-throwers ready, flying passes under the others, catching any stray Thread that may fall.

_Olmeth is there,_ Sirenith thought to her rider, sending the mental picture so that Tirelle could get her bearings. The pair then swooped down to meet the brown dragon and rider, tossing the sacks of firestone across the open air between them. F'lin saluted them, then flew back into formation, feeding his Olmeth chucks of firestone as they rose.

_Back to the Weyr, love,_ Tirelle thought, gaining some altitude before she gave the signal to jump _between_.

The frozen nothingness of between was still slightly unnerving to the green rider. She counted to three, and she had been instructed, and kept the vision of Ista Weyr firmly in her mind. Bursting back into the bright daylight over the Bowl, Sirenith made a tight spiral down to the ground, pulling up at the last second to make a soft landing. Young ones from the Lower Caverns ran forward to exchange the empty firestone sacks with full ones. While she was tying the new sacks into place, K'res walked over to her with a new reference.

Tirella and Sirenith continued like this for the next two hours. Catching quick breaks between firestone runs, the pair kept up a fast and efficient pace. The Threads had been drifting, approaching the coast, and they were falling thicker each time Tirelle made a foray into the Fall.

Tirelle had been watering Sirenith, and getting a mug of klah for herself, when K'res called out to her.

"Z'fan needs firestone, but he's in a tricky spot. His Gareth sent me a reference, but you'll still have to fly a bit to reach them. Here," he threw her a small bag of firestone, "This should last you until you can get back. Threads are falling thick and fast. Don't chase them, but if you need to sear them, don't hesitate."

Tirelle nodded, and quickly mounted Sirenith. Once airborn, Sirenith turned her head, asking for firestone. _I might as well get it in me now so were ready,_ the green thought to her rider. Tirelle opened the small pouch and slowly fed the stones to her weyrmate. Once the bag was empty, Sirenith got her reference from Gith, and Tirelle gave the signal to go _between_.

They exited into controlled chaos. Dragon wings flying every which way, and the scent of phosphine fumes stung her nose. Tirelle asked Sirenith to gain altitude, trying to catch a glipse of Z'fan and his Gareth.

_There, above those trees_ Sirenith called. Tirelle looked where her weyrmate indicated, and saw the bronze rider flame as he chased down a clump of thread. Z'fan was flying several hundred yards away from where she hovered with Sirenith, and Threads were falling heavily in between the them.

_Alright love, this is what they trained us for, _she thought to Sirenith

The green bugled her excitement as they dove right into the fray. Sirenith swooped in between dragons and flames, searing Threads that she passed, but mostly trying to stay out of the fiery emissions of any of the other dragons. As they neared the bronze rider, Sirenith sent a call to Gareth, letting them know they were on the way. Z'fan turned Gareth so that they were facing the approaching green weyrling.

Sirenith swooped into possision, her brilliant green wings working hard to keep steady. As Tirelle reached down to unhook one of the sacks of firestone from her harness, she caught a glimpse of silver above Z'fan.

_Sirenith! There!_

Her green shot forward, fiery breath spewing from her mouth, as she did a maneuver worthy of the best acrobats, scorching the Threads while avoiding either running into, or flaming the great bronze and his rider.

Z'fan ducked, cursing as he saw the flaming green coming towards him. His Gareth dropped, swooping under the weyrling pair.

_Sirenith's rider saw Thread above us. I didn't sense it,_ Gareth thought to his rider, obviously upset with himself for the oversight.

_Don't feel bad, dear heart,_ Z'fan thought back. _Neither did I._

Tirelle swooped back into position to toss the firestone sacks over to the bronze pair.

"Good eye, green rider!" Z'fan called across the gap after Tirelle had thrown the first sack to him. Tirelle saluted, then threw the other sack before flying off a ways to blink _between_.

----------------------------

Tirelle was relaxing on the heights, stripped down to a short under-dress as she sat leaning against her green weyrmate. She breathed deep, taking in the cooler night air, relaxing after such a strenuous day. Sirenith was deep asleep, and the dreams that she was projecting to Tirelle were peaceful. Tirelle knew that they would soon need to return to the barracks, to settle in for the night, but she was reluctant to wake her dragon.

Looking towards the sky, she marked out constellations. The great Bear, just rising in the east. The Runner, the Weyrwoman, and the great Queen Dragon, that stretched to the far horizon. Her eye inevitably fell on the Red Star, pulsing in the sky as it did. She glared at the harsh light that seemed to give the whole sky an angry feeling.

She heard a dragon's cry pierce the quiet night. She glanced towards the Star Stone, trying to make out the colour of the dragon, curious as to who could be arriving so late.

_Cyanth returns,_ Sirenith grumbled raising her large wedge head.

_Awake, are you?_ Tirelle teased her mount.

Sirenith rumbled with draconic laughter. _They are joining us,_ she thought, _I have missed Cyanth._

The blue flew towards the rocky outcrop that Tirelle and Sirenith were laying on, his great wings curving at the last moment to check his forward speed as he landed. The wiry, blonde rider jumped down from Cyanth's neck, and Tirelle rose to meet him. Tirelle ran forward and embraced him, honestly glad that he had returned. Cyanth and Sirenith were also embracing, necks twined. Tirelle had almost forgot how much affection existed between the two dragons.

"Shards, I've missed you T'lec," she said as she hugged him. The taller young man wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace in a silent greeting. Tirelle smiled into his shoulder. His very presence was like hot klah; it soothed her, yet made her focused. Tirelle released him, stepping back and returning to her seat in front of Sirenith. T'lec followed, and sat with her on the rocky ground.

Tirelle looked back up to the stars. "So much has happened, T'lec. I've found out so much, and yet have so many more questions. I don't know where to begin."

T'lec smiled, before putting his hand on her knee. "The beginning," the blue rider suggested.


	10. Passion

**Passion**

(AN: sorry for the delay on this chapter, life kinda caught up with me, and thanks to Natura, cklammer, dreamerskies, nintschibintschi, GinnyStar for there comments and favorites! WARNING! this chapter contains material that warrants an M rating, aka: mating flight!)

Tirelle walked into the Great Hall early that morning, searching for C'rel. He had promised to look for the source of T'don's ballad, but it had been a sevenday since he made his promise and so far, nothing. He had barely even been seen around the Weyr. And, with spring coming, the dragon riders would be much busier, having more of Pern to protect from Thread. When Tirelle saw him across the Hall, she wasted no time in walking over to the brown rider.

C'rel heard someone approaching, and looked up to see Tirelle baring down on him. He forced a smile, but was not looking forward to this meeting.

"Tirelle," he said as warmly as he could, "Good morning, my duty to-"

"Oh, scorch it, don't give me any nonsense about duty," she said, eyes flashing. "Have you found the source of that story? I need to know, C'rel. If there is someone out there who knows what happened to my parents, I need to know."

C'rel frowned. "Tirelle, it was a long time ago. I told you, it may just be a glorified love story with little to do with reality, the truth decreasing with each telling."

"You promised me your help, C'rel," Tirelle said, her voice climbing in volume. "You promised you would track down whoever it was that told T'don that story. I trusted you! You promised to find them-"

"Faranth's Egg, there was no one to sharding find!" C'rel hissed, trying to keep his voice low. With spring coming on, all riders had returned to the Weyr, and the Great Hall was rather full. His argument with Tirelle was not going unnoticed, but so far those nearby were at least pretending that they weren't listening. He was trying very hard to keep this conversation from exploding, but Tirelle was out of her head.

"What?" Tirelle whispered, her eyes wary.

Taking a deep breath, he continued. "I went back to Keroon. I found the town where the story originated from. But, it was just that. A story. There were no records of what actually happened. There were dozens of versions of the story, and each person claimed that their version was the Thread-bare truth. There was no one there with any answers for you, Tirelle. No one who could tell you about your parents. It was just a story!"

"You're lying!" she shouted at the brown rider, following her harsh words with a slap across his face.

The whole Hall was now turned and staring at them. C'rel could see the shock in their eyes. A weyrling treating a wingsecond in such a manner was unheard of. R'xen, one of Tirelle's clutchmates walked towards the pair.

"Come on, Tirelle, lets go. You don't know what you're doing. Lets step outside for a minute," he was saying softly, trying to lead the hysterical woman outside where she could calm down.

Tirelle broke out of R'xen's arms, and ran for the door. She needed to get away. Away from C'rel, away from the Weyr, away from-

Suddenly, she felt Sirenith awake, and a wave of pure lust washed over her.

"Sirenith?" she whispered, before a high pitched dragon-scream came from the direction of the weyrling barracks. Tirelle fell to her knees, overpowered by the emotions coming from her life mate.

Arms were lifting her, carrying her out of the Hall. Tirelle blinked at the bright light when she was carried into the sun, but that was her only response. Because she was no longer Tirelle. She was Sirenith. And she was hungry.

The bright green came screaming out of the barracks cavern, tossing her head in her madness. She flew into a group of dragons that had been lounging near the feeding grounds, scattering them. Only when she was sure no other dragon was near did she turn her attention to the heardbeasts. Swooping down, she struck a large bull, bringing it to the ground.

"Control her!" a voice whispered in Tirelle's ear, bringing her back to her body momentarily. Someone was supporting her, holding her upright as her body trembled with need. "Keep her with you! Don't faint, you silly girl; restrain her!"

Tirelle took a deep breathe, and separated herself from her lust-maddened green. She tried to keep her head, to be a sense of reason for her life mate. She watched, trembling in sensory overload, as Sirenith latched onto the beasts throat, draining it of blood.

With that hot taste in her mouth, Tirelle was pulled back into Sirenith. The green forgot about the other dragons she had chased away only moments before. She had the taste of blood, and she wanted more, not caring who was near. She launched into the air, only to plummet back down, taking another heardbeast, and not hesitating to latch onto its throat.

Other dragons followed the petite green's example. Blues, browns, and even a few bronzes were in the herd pens, blooding their own animals, as Tirelle-Sirenith struck for the third time.

As Tirelle-Sirenith was draining the beast, her hide began to glow. The already bright green was now positively brilliant. She raised her head from her kill, and stretched her neck to its full length, giving a mighty roar before launching into the sky.

She beat her strong wings, climbing higher and higher, to where the air was so thin, she could practically see the rainbows cast by each molecule floating in the atmosphere. She was Tirelle-Sirenith! She was beautiful, powerful, and free!Turning, she saw her pursuit. She cried her challenge, and her disdain. Such bulky creatures. How did they expect to catch the fast, agile, and intelligent Tirelle-Sirenith? She folded her wings, diving right through the middle of the chasing dragons, calling her flirtatious invitation back to them.

_Catch me, if you can!_

Still falling from the heavens, Tirelle-Sirenith directed herself towards an area of cliffs, canyons, and crags with excitement. Let those great, clumsy beasts follow her here!

She dove into a canyon, large enough to accommodate her, but narrow enough to give problems to the larger male beasts. Plus, her reflexes were much faster than the following blues, browns, and bronzes. Well, blues and browns. As she looked behind her, checking her pursuit, she noticed that the bronzes had given up the chase. She screamed her triumph! Let them talk about the bronzes great strength and power; they were no match for her here!

Tirelle-Sirenith continued through the narrow canyon, making intuitive turns where she came upon forks in the rocky cliffs. When she saw that the walls of the canyon were closing, she made a change in direction, and flew straight up. She could hear the confusion from the following dragons, and threw a teasing croon back over her shoulder, flirting with her suitors.

Five beasts followed her out of the canyon, four blues and one very determined brown. She let them gain on her, before beginning an acrobatic mid-air dance between her lovers. She let her wing tip trail across Duranth, a strong blue, in his prime, a little too formal for the spontaneous green. She cried her supremacy as Cyanth failed to catch her wings as she passed; he was young, fast, and very affectionate, but overeager. She launched upward between two unfamiliar blues, noticing their fine colour and strength, and then flicked her tail at Pearth, the lone brown.

Pearth nearly captured her beneath him, but the fast Tirelle-Sirenith dodged his grasp, not ready for this flight to be over. She felt a great amount of passion for the brown, and if anyone should catch her, she wished it be him. But, somewhere else, some other part of her heard his name with rage.

This thought brought Tirelle back to herself and for a moment, she was seperate from Sirenith. Tirelle saw her surroundings. An empty weyr. She was surrounded by riders, some she recognized, some she did not. As Sirenith wove between her potential lovers, so did Tirelle. She was dancing, her hand trailing here, his hand(whoever _he_ was at the time) touching there. She shivered as her hand touched bare flesh, and the wild desire that overwhelmed her took her back to the sky, to Sirenith.

The two unfamiliar blues had given up the chase, and Tirelle-Sirenith's other suitors were now in a much tighter space. Duranth, Cyanth, and Pearth wove together, and the green was having difficulty telling where one dragon ended and another began. Crying out in frustrated anger, she began searching for a way out of the tangle, _any_ way out.

"Stay with her, do not let her go _between. _Keep with her. _Be_ with her!"

The familiar voice commanded the earth-bound half of Tirelle-Sirenith's mind. The hesitation was all the opportunity that her ardent pursuer needed.

Pearth's strong forearms reached out and caught the little green. She immediately tried to fly, trying to propel herself away from the brown, but her wings fouled with his, his neck twining around hers as they both fell towards the rock-hard ground. Then, just as Pearth's wings stretched out to check their fall, the brown plunged into his mate.

And something exploded inside Tirelle-Sirenith.

Suddenly, instead of being either in the weyr as Tirelle, or aloft as Sirenith, she was both, seeing both, _feeling_ both. She could feel C'rel, his hungry mouth on hers, his hands exploring her every curve, and she could feel Pearth, pumping into her, and she screamed from the combined pleasure. As C'rel's mouth and hands moved down her body, dipping into her hot, wet core, Pearth's mighty wings brought her safely to ground, where he could thrust deeper, setting her whole body on fire. As she gasped and moaned, straddling her human lover on the furs, she also screamed and trilled, writhing beneath her dragon lover on the hard ground.

Both her dragon and human lovers increased their pace, and an incredible pressure built within her, peaked, and then began building again. She screamed, moaned, and then trembled until another scream escaped her. Finally, when she thought her body would burst into flames, her lovers made their release, matching her cries in a wild, passionate harmony.


End file.
